


A Wrapped Audience

by OllieMaye



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Marriage (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Yoga, Aziraphale Does Yoga, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale has leggings, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye
Summary: Aziraphale enrolls in a yoga class and Crowley enjoys the fruits of hisleggingslabours.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Prompt Exchange 2020





	A Wrapped Audience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrandonStrayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Aziraphale has taken up yoga and Crowley is having trouble dealing with the sight of Aziraphale clad in spandex and bent into decidedly NOT angelic positions. Surely this is too much cruelty for even a demon to bear?
> 
> Thanks so much to my intrepid betas, [Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum) and [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse)! Y'all are beta goddesses who made my words sparkle!
> 
> And to BrandonStrayne: thanks for being such a great friend! Please accept this as a token of my appreciation; I hope you enjoy this fic that, when I finally let it have control, basically wrote itself ;)

The sound of someone grunting rang through the air as Crowley ambled toward the sunroom to water his plants. “Oh, fiddlesticks!” Aziraphale bellowed in frustration; Crowley followed the string of curses to find Aziraphale in the spare room, a video playing on the television. His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowing at the yoga instructor as she handily completed the Harvest Moon pose, a sheen of sweat now coating his forehead. The flexibility of her body was impressive; how she was able to hook her elbow under her knee and keep her spine straight was nothing short of miraculous. Aziraphale gingerly lowered his leg— _his body will hate him in the morning,_ Crowley thought, empathy for his angel filling his chest. Aziraphale flopped onto the couch and allowed himself to pout at his defeat. He picked up his phone and absentmindedly scrolled through Twitter as he let the video play on, wholly uninterested in finishing it out. 

“Good. Now deep breath in,” the instructor directed, a serene look on her face as she guided the video’s viewers through the yoga routine. Though he wasn’t participating in the yoga poses, Aziraphale took the opportunity to cool down. He scooted to the edge of the couch and sat up straight, his spine all properly aligned, then closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The stretch the breath gave his lungs must have felt wonderful, and as he breathed out to a count of eight, Crowley could practically feel the ire Aziraphale held toward the yoga video melt away.

From across the room, Crowley drank in the sight of his beloved: Aziraphale’s back so perfectly straight, all his vertebrae in perfect alignment, his chest expanding with each deep breath he took—he was _beautiful._ He watched as Aziraphale took a few more breaths, his palms resting on his thighs. Crowley watched as his hands slid up and down his yoga leggings slowly. Oh, how he’d love to peel those off...

Crowley must have let out an unintended sigh; Aziraphale opened his eyes as the instructor bade the audience farewell till their next session. The video ended on an image of an aloe plant and a candle, surely meant to keep with the calming aesthetic the producers had been aiming for. He rolled his eyes and smirked in Aziraphale’s direction. “The old yoga video again, eh?” he queried, striding towards the couch and seating himself with a _flump_. 

Aziraphale looked at the clock on the side table. “I made it a whole half hour this time, I”ll have you know. This calls for a _celebration,”_ he said pointedly as he planted his hand on Crowley’s knobby knee and pushed himself up. Crowley looked on as Aziraphale walked, slightly gingerly, into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of white wine, a crisp yet sweet Riesling, 

Leaning against the cupboard, Aziraphale sipped at his wine, ruminating over the yoga video again. There was nothing Crowley loved more than watching Aziraphale doing—well, almost _anything._ He always moved with such ease, so much graceful self-assurance. He never swaggered into a room, as Crowley himself was wont to do; he seemed to _glide_. Crowley took in every curve of his body, every dimple and every miraculous imperfection, all committed to memory seemingly 6000 years ago. 

And those _leggings_ —they were going to be the death of Crowley. How they clung and stretched over Aziraphale’s supple thighs. Crowley imagined himself as those leggings, practically melding into Aziraphale’s very skin. He lost himself in the images this thought brought forth: Crowley somehow wrapped all around Aziraphale’s body like a snake, clinging to his form as if his life depended on it. All because of those _leggings_.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said gently, rousing him from his positively devious thoughts. “Are you alright?” 

With a small shake of his head, Crowley’s eyes travelled up from Aziraphale’s lower half to his face. “Yes, fine, tickety-boo.” Crowley blushed a furious red as Aziraphale’s own words left his mouth, and Crowley seemed to feel them wrap around him. “I thought you’d given up on that yoga video. What made you try it again?” 

“Oh, that blasted brother of mine,” Aziraphale groaned as he placed his nearly empty glass on the counter. “Gabriel was rambling on and on about the poses he’d learned at his new yoga class. I’d been doing so well, not letting him rile me up like he does.” Crowley nodded in agreement; he sauntered to where Aziraphale was stood and reached a slender hand to the cherubic face, gently stroking his smooth skin. 

“Darling,” Crowley crooned, “you don’t have anything to prove to anyone, least of all your brother. But, if you’re so keen on showing him up, maybe you should take a class or two of your own.” 

Aziraphale drew Crowley a withered look, then picked his glass back up and downed the remainder of the wine. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

Crowley grinned at his beloved. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

*********

Of course, Crowley was right; maybe Aziraphale just needed an in-person instructor, someone who could help him move his body the way the poses required. With a renewed sense of fortitude, Aziraphale sat down in front of his laptop. 

“Yoga…classes...in...my...area,” he muttered as he typed the words into the search bar. He raised an eyebrow as the search returned many more results than he’d expected. His brow creased as he perused the listings: Hatha, hot yoga, Vinyasa...Aziraphale really had no clue what was what and shook his head when he’d decided he needed to refine his search.

“Beginner...yoga...in...my...area,” he whispered as he typed, and the results he brought up this time seemed much more in line with his abilities. He perused some of the studios before settling on one called The Flaming Sword. The next beginner’s course was the next Tuesday at 8:30am, so Aziraphale registered for the class and added an event reminder to the calendar app on his mobile. Already, he felt a great sense of accomplishment—Gabriel and his Utthan Eka Pada Sirsasana be damned.

Tuesday morning found Aziraphale pacing around the outside of his chosen yoga studio, which was inconveniently located next to a bakery. The tantalising scent of freshly-baked goods wafted through the spring air as Aziraphale turned to complete another lap on the sidewalk. He’d heard the new bakery—Bites Out Of Hell—had opened recently and the reviews were outstanding. The window display didn’t help things: a tiered cake with vanilla icing, strewn with glazed strawberries. It looked positively _sinful_. 

_NO,_ he thought pointedly, _you mustn’t._ He plucked up his courage and walked with semi-confidence through the glass doors of the yoga studio. The room was bright and warm, smelling of lavender and a hint of Aziraphale’s favourite, chamomile. Already, he had a good feeling about this place. There was a group of maybe five other people spaced about the smallish space, unrolling yoga mats onto the floor in anticipation of the class. Aziraphale took the nearest spot to him which gave him a good view of the door—very important if he suddenly lost his determination and needed to make a run for it. He rolled his own yoga mat out in front of him as a slender woman came out from a door at the side of the room. 

“Welcome,” she said in a warm tone. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight top-knot, not a single hair out of place. “My name is Anathema Device and I’ll be your guide in this journey you’re embarking on.” As she explained the goals of the class, Aziraphale felt a growing sense of dread: how was he supposed to keep up with this utter goddess of a yogi—and by extension, his brother? The good feeling he’d had when he entered the studio quickly dissipated. 

“But don’t fret!” Anathema continued. “I’ll be here the entire way. So, let’s begin!”

 _Fuck._

An hour later, Aziraphale rolled his yoga mat back up, wincing slightly as he leaned forward, feeling a burn in his hamstrings. The sensation wasn’t all unpleasant; he felt exhausted, but relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt doing the yoga video at home. Crowley was absolutely right, of course; all he needed was an instructor who knew how to work with differently-made bodies. It was like witchcraft, the way Anathema practically prophesied the way his body would object to the pose they were to attempt. But Anathema helped his body move and stretch, and Aziraphale knew he’d be back the next week.

When he arrived home, he found on the kitchen table: a bottle of his favourite Riesling wine; a vase filled with gardenias, geraniums and gladiolus, a riot of joyous colours; and a note in Crowley’s sweeping handwriting that read _Knock ‘em dead, angel—AJC_. Aziraphale’s heart warmed at the word “angel” and he smiled as he breathed in the heady scent of the flowers. Deciding to share the wine with Crowley later that evening, he took it to the refrigerator to chill, then set about getting ready to open the bookstore. 

When he returned that night, it was to find Crowley in an apron that read “Kiss this Demon” and cooking dinner. During their delicious meal of salmon with lemon, haricots verts and roasted potatoes, Aziraphale told Crowley all about his new yoga class: he described his bewitching instructor, the relaxing ambiance of the studio and how the routine was simple but challenging. Crowley drank in every word Aziraphale uttered, flashing a lopsided grin every time Zira’s eyes lit up and watching with piqued interest when he brought a bite of salmon to his lips. He’d always loved watching the way Aziraphale ate—the little moans of pleasure when he tasted a morsel, the flutter of his long blond eyelashes, even the way he delicately wiped his mouth with his napkin. It all served to drive Crowley wild.

“Sounds like the class was a success,” Crowley remarked, his chin resting in his cupped hand. 

“ _Quite_. I’ll probably never be able to do the poses Michael does, but maybe I can prove to him that I’m just as capable as he is.”

Crowley sighed, reaching his hand out to take Aziraphale’s. “You’re twelve times as capable as he is, dear.” He quickly squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale nearly shouted as his face lit up at the memory that had just entered his mind, “and I saw that new bake shop, Bites Out Of Hell. They had the most sinful looking cake in their display window. We ought to go there sometime!”

“That can definitely be arranged.” 

*********

A month later, Crowley caught Aziraphale in the middle of a yoga routine, and he could tell that he had progressed quickly. He’d been going to all of Anathema’s yoga classes; they were in the morning before the bookstore opened, while Crowley was already at his office at H. E. Ells’s Law Firm. He’d taken the day off; he and Aziraphale planned to visit Gabriel that afternoon for their monthly brunch. Fucking _Gabriel_ , with his perfectly coiffed hair and his perfectly white teeth. Crowley could never forgive him for constantly making Aziraphale feel _lesser than._ But Aziraphale insisted on these brunches, and Crowley could never say no to his husband. 

Crowley had every intention of collecting Zira so they could leave, but spying him moving so fluidly mesmerised him, Aziraphale moved through the poses like silk falling through the air, each transition smooth and perfect, his spine bending gracefully with each stretch. 

And there they were again— _those leggings_. In the months that Aziraphale had really focused on his yoga, his body had changed. He was still stout, but there was a strength about him now that he didn’t have before. His thighs stretched as he moved into the Lunge pose, and the fabric once again clung to every curve, every dimple of Azirphale’s supple thigh. Crowley felt his mouth go dry as his eyes wandered from Zira’s ankle up his leg and to his groin, and as Aziraphale moved into a Warrior pose, the leggings barely hid the outline of his bulge. Crowley suddenly felt very warm.

“Angel,” he managed to croak out, “if we’re to meet Gabriel, we need to leave soon.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stretched his arms up, his tank top riding up his abdomen and exposing his soft belly. The faintest hint of pubic hair glistened in the sunlight—his hair was so blond, it might as well have been non-existent. “Must we go?” he moaned as he reached behind him, sending his shirt further up his abdomen. Crowley felt a definite _twitch_ in his trousers. 

“You’re the one who called for this brunch,” Crowley said quietly, “though I’m not sure why. You’re never the one to initiate these meetings…” He trailed off as he watched Aziraphale move expertly into the downward dog pose, his arse high in the air and his feet flat on the ground. Crowley had seen that arse on display god knows how many times, but it seemed different this time, almost like Aziraphale was putting on a show. Crowley _liked_ it. He lost himself watching the flow of Aziraphale’s routine, one pose melting into another. It was hypnotic. And again, those _leggings_ …

He didn’t know how long he’d been ogling his beloved—he’d been watching the waistband of Aziraphale’s leggings barely cover the cleft of his arse, the fabric pulling tight across his plump cheeks—when the heavenly face suddenly came into focus.

“Crowley, do we have to go?” Aziraphale purred. _That’s different_ , Crowley thought and his brow furled. Was Aziraphale now backing out on the brunch plans he’d brought up himself? 

“I saw you watching me,” he intoned, his fingertips tracing the bone of Crowley’s long jaw. His thumb travelled down and over Crowley’s Adam’s apple, which bobbed at the movement. “Did you enjoy the show?” Aziraphale slunk over to him, his body moving with a renewed self-assurance. He was always confident, if a little timid, but Zira now seemed more comfortable in his body, like he’d finally found a way to feel at home. Crowley felt his heart grow just a little bit more watching his plump form move toward him. 

Crowley swallowed thickly. “I always enjoy the show. Are you thinking of cancelling on Gabriel?”

Aziraphale blushed almost imperceptibly and looked down, eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. “I wanted to show you the new pair of leggings I purchased the other day.”

_Ngk._

Crowey breathed in as Aziraphale moved in on him again; the scent of chamomile always hung about him, and the fragrance never failed to calm Crowley. However, as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and semi-covertly rubbed the top of his thigh against Crowley’s swiftly stiffening member, the scent seemed to ignite something within him. Aziraphale’s warm breath caressed his ears as he murmured, 

“They’re tartan.” 

_Ngk._ “Yeah,” Crowley croaked, his voice coming out a little breathier than he’d anticipated. 

“I can take them off, if you like,” Zira crooned, his voice rising and falling as though he were singing. He reached toward Crowley, slipping a hand inside his black leather jacket and running it along the side of his torso. “Or, _you_ can take them off—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence: Crowley had lost all self-control and pulled Aziraphale flush to him, crashing their lips together. Aziraphale inhaled sharply at the hasty embrace, but seemed to melt against his husband as the kiss deepened. Crowley felt Zira’s body go limp, pliable, and his tongue traced the lips he wanted so desperately to open for him. Zira complied, and the kiss deepened. Crowley wrapped his arms around his angel, wishing they could somehow meld together. He was lost in a frenzy of utter contentment and burning desire, and he didn’t know which feeling to acquiesce to.

His question was answered quickly; Crowley was roused from his stupor as he felt Aziraphale nip at his bottom lip, a spark of want travelling directly to his cock. He moaned into Zira’s mouth and felt his hand undoing the fly of his trousers. Aziraphale always made the more mundane parts of love-making feel more special—at times, he would rip the trousers off in a frenzy, others he seemed to delicately peel them as though he were unwrapping a precious gift. Today was one of those days where he seemed to take his time, carefully undoing the button and slowly, almost painfully, pulling the zip. _Ngk._

Feeling flush, Crowley suddenly saw an image flash across his mind, and before he realised what was happening, was asking Aziraphale, “Erm, Zira, c-could you—could you maybe—do the downward-facing dog pose for me?”

Aziraphale drew a bemused look, squinting at Crowley as though he were speaking a foreign language. "The downward-facing dog pose?”

Crowley ruffled his hair, uncharacteristically nervous. “Yeah. Your arse—it’s simply divine in that position. I’d like so much to see it.” 

Aziraphale bit his lip coquettishly. “Oh, I see. You want to _see my arse_.” He glided back onto his yoga mat. Crowley was feeling more and more flush and decided to shed his jacket. The cool room air hit his overly warm skin—he was sure steam was rolling off him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Aziraphale asked, with absolutely zero strain in his voice. Crowley felt an incandescent love and pride for his beloved in that moment; he loved seeing this sheer angel of a man becoming—not a better version of himself, that wasn’t giving him enough credit—but a more lived-in version, maybe. He didn’t know if it was the rampant want clouding his ability to form thoughts, or if there really were just no words to describe what he felt for Aziraphale. He was a fucking _miracle_. 

Words failed him, so all Crowley could mutter was a muffled “Yeah,” before sauntering to where Aziraphale was posed. He took a moment to admire the shape of him: his spine was perfectly aligned, his face serene. And again, those leggings: they stretched over his skin, just a thin layer of flimsy fabric separating Crowley from what lay beneath. He knelt down and reached out gingerly, his hand stroking Aziraphale’s legging-clad calf. He could feel the muscles in his leg, strong and secure. Aziraphale was always so warm, the perfect counterpart to Crowley’s perpetually cold hands. Heat radiated off of Aziraphale almost in waves—Crowley wasn’t sure if he was just that warm, or if this was indicative of any desire he was feeling himself. But oh, did it make him _excited._

Crowley languorously dragged his hand further up Aziraphale’s leg, noting a slight tremble as his hand moved over his thigh. An almost imperceptible whimper escaped Aziraphale. “Are you uncomfortable, angel?” Crowley uttered. While he enjoyed very much observing Aziraphale’s perfect form, he didn’t want him to be in any discomfort.

“Quite the contrary,” Aziraphale answered, almost moaning as Crowley’s hand crept towards his arse. “I’d be most aggrieved if your hand were to stop.” 

_Ngk._

His hand roamed over the plump orbs of Aziraphale’s arse, defined brilliantly by those leggings Crowley loved so much. The fabric pulled over each cheek, leaving little to the imagination. He imagined peeling them off, Aziraphale tended to wear jock straps when wearing yoga leggings and his arse cheeks would probably be flushed from the prolonged close contact with the fabric. Crowley pictured running his hands over those round cheeks, his fingers sinking into the flesh. Oh, he could barely take this anymore. 

_Enough,_ Crowley thought. He reached his hands up to the waistband of the leggings, hooked his fingers underneath and pulled the leggings over Aziraphale’s arse, his full cheeks high in the air as he continued to hold the pose. A light smattering of pale blond fuzz covered the cheeks, and Crowley ran his hands over the flesh. 

“Zira,” Crowley purred, “can you kneel for me?”

Aziraphale complied, moving his knees beneath him and supporting his upper body on his strong arms. His jock strap framed his arse perfectly. “Good boy. Now, on your elbows, please.” Aziraphale dropped his chest down, the palms of his hands flat against the floor. His back sloped gracefully, and with his arse still on a level with Crowley, he gave a little wiggle, and Crowley felt a new _zing_ travel to his cock. 

“Angel, you’re beautiful,” Crowley crooned, wishing he could imprint this image onto his brain. A tiny giggle sounded from Aziraphale at the repeated use of the pet name.

“I hardly think angels fuck. In fact, I doubt they even have romantic partners.” 

Crowley scoffed and regarded the glorious arse in front of him again. “They don’t know what they’re missing, then.” He smoothed a hand over the cheeks, separating them so he could see the furled skin of Aziraphale’s anus. He rubbed a thumb over it and felt the tiny muscles pucker ever so slightly. He brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked, leaving saliva coating it, then brushed the rosette of flesh again, pressing a little more insistently. 

“Mmm, Crowley, you foul fiend,” Aziraphale moaned, rocking back against Crowley’s touch. Crowley repeated the movement of sucking on his thumb, then stroking Zira’s hole, making it pliant and wet. He bent down slightly to kiss the flesh of Aziraphale’s arse, inhaling his scent as he moved up toward the small of his back. He truly did look beautiful like this. Crowley kissed his way back down to Zira’s arse, licking a stripe along the curves of his perfect body. He spread the cheeks open again, the skin of his hole slightly pink from the brief massage it had received. Crowley kissed it, then darted his tongue out to taste his beloved. Aziraphale keened at the sensation, stretching his back and raising his arse higher. Crowley lapped at the small hole, alternating sensuous laves with his whole tongue and more pointed thrusts with the tip. He prided himself on his tongue; it was almost like another appendage, a snake’s tongue. Aziraphale seemed to appreciate it as well.

“Angel, you’re divine,” Crowley purred. He sucked on his thumb again, then swept it gently across Aziraphale’s hole. He then sucked on a finger, leaving a good amount of saliva on it, then pressed his finger against the ring of muscle, feeling it pucker, almost inviting the slender digit inside. 

“Mmmore,” Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley obliged, pressing his finger forward into Aziraphale’s velvety entrance. 

“So tight,” Crowley said as he pumped his finger in and out a few times before bringing his hand to his mouth again, sucking on two fingers, then fingered Aziraphale’s hole again. He felt the muscle stretch around them. Zira’s cock was fully hard now and straining against the fabric of his jock strap, so Crowley stopped his movements and pulled the jock off of him, letting Zira’s erection bob heavily before stroking it at a leisurely pace. He returned his fingers back to Zira’s hole and continued thrusting them in and out, kissing the tender skin of his perineum, then dragged his tongue over Aziraphale’s balls, taking one in his mouth and sucking it.

“Oh god,” Aziraphale sighed as he tried to push himself back onto Crowley’s fingers. Crowley ran a hand along Aziraphale’s back, the skin warm to the touch and silky smooth. He halted his ministrations; he noticed a tiny tremble in his thigh and wondered if he was becoming uncomfortable. 

“Zira, let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” he intoned. 

“Yes, please,” Aziraphale answered swiftly, and he gingerly hoisted himself up off the floor and padded down the hall to their bedroom. At this point, brunch with Gabriel was off the table, and It seemed Aziraphale was just as eager as Crowley to skip lunch and jump straight to dessert. Crowley watched as Aziraphale removed the duvet from the bed and stretched himself across the mattress; he looked Rubenesque, his arm nestled in the slight curve of his torso and his hand gracefully resting on his hip. The light from the window hit his blond hair at just the right angles, and if he hadn’t known better, he wouldn't have been surprised to see tiny reflections dancing on the walls. _Fuck, he truly is an angel—_ If Crowley had been an artist, he would’ve painted 500 Aziraphales. 

Crowley made quick work of divesting himself; removing his trousers and pants, his cock sprang free, almost painfully hard and wanting to be buried inside Aziraphale. He hurried over to the bed and climbed up next to Aziraphale and wasted no time crashing their lips together again in a heated embrace. His hands ran all over Zira’s back, tracing the contours of his body he knew by heart. Fuck, he felt _good._

“Will you fuck me now, Crowley?” Aziraphale requested, his voice breathy. Crowley took his face between his hands and just looked for a moment: his cheeks were red, his pupils blown, his hair ever so slightly disheveled. Crowley thought he’d never looked more gorgeous.

 _Yes,_ Crowley thought, and planted another kiss onto Zira’s swollen lips. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s slender body and pulled him down on top of him. 

“And can you take your shirt off? I’d like to see your freckles.” 

_Ngk._ He’d left his shirt on in his rush. “Of course,” Crowley answered as he hastily ripped his shirt off, becoming slightly tangled for a second, then flinging the top to the floor. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands back on Aziraphale’s body. 

Crowley cradled Zira’s cock and bent forward, slowly licking a stripe up it, then taking the head into his mouth and sucking lightly. He bobbed his head up and down, taking Aziraphale into his throat as far as he could without gagging. He felt him buck up into his throat and Crowley smiled around the cock. _Oh god_ , how he loved this, sucking his angel off, and Zira so _ready_ for him. Crowley released Aziraphale’s dick. 

“Hold on a tick,” Crowley said, reaching over to the bedside table and prising a small bottle of lube from the drawer. He poured a small amount into his hands, rubbing them together to coat them, then lay the bottle just to Aziraphale’s side. Zira’s cock was lying flat against his belly, shiny from Crowley’s saliva and practically inviting him to play again.

Crowley ghosted his hand up the underside of Zira’s cock and felt his body shiver the slightest bit. He curled his fingers around the head of his cock, then moved his hand back down, Aziraphale sucked in his bottom lip and took a deep inhale.

“That feel good, love?” Crowley asked coyly, his hand travelling up and down Zira’s shaft. He hummed in response, and the sound mixed with the blissful look on his face gave Crowley the answer he needed. He picked up the bottle of lube again, squeezed another small amount onto his fingertips, then slathered Zira’s hole, rubbing the remainder over his own dick, giving it a few tugs for posterity. Not that it was needed, he was already hard as a rock; servicing his angel always did that.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s legs up, bending them gently. “Are you okay like this?” he asked. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Quite.” It seemed the yoga had paid off in spades. 

With a new sense of reassurance, Crowley lined the head of his dick with Zira’s hole and pushed forward slightly, feeling the tight muscles starting to give way for him. He pulled back and pushed forward again, this time a little more insistently, a little further, until he was fully sheathed. He stilled for a moment, then began to thrust, gently at first, but quickly finding an easy rhythm. 

Oh, how he loved the feeling of Aziraphale around him, enveloping him in his slick heat. Crowley knew that Aziraphale didn’t like to be fucked too hard at first, so he took his time, fondling Zira’s rosy erection as he moved. He looked so beautiful below him, his eyes heavily lidded and his lip between his teeth. Crowley increased the speed of his thrusts incrementally, watching his husband’s pelvis below him rising to meet him. He grasped his hips, his fingers sinking into warm skin. Aziraphale moaned as Crowley worked inside him; had he ever heard anything so simultaneously heavenly and sinful? 

“C-can I ride you?” Aziraphale breathed out between each forward movement. Crowley smirked and replied, “As you wish.” Crowley skillfully flipped them over, and Aziraphale settled on top of him, reached behind and lined up Crowley’s dick to his entrance. He lowered himself, fully sheathing Crowley inside him. Crowley let out a long moan as Aziraphale rested for a second.

“Everything okay, angel?” Crowley asked—it seemed time had stopped and Aziraphale was frozen on top of him. Crowley suddenly worried that Zira was too tired from his yoga routine, that maybe he’d developed a cramp, or maybe something worse. He propped himself up on his elbows, furling his brow in concern.

“It’s nothing. I just like feeling you there.”

 _Ngk._ Crowley’s cock zinged with those words and he watched as Aziraphale arched his back and lifted his head to the ceiling. The new angle definitely agreed with his dick, and Aziraphale started to move, slowly at first but building up to a faster pace. Crowley loved seeing Zira like this, so in control, enjoying himself, his short blond curls mussed and slightly damp. Aziraphale leant forward to kiss him as he continued bouncing on Crowley’s dick.

“Crowley,” he panted, “I’m getting close.” Crowley was too, but he always wanted Aziraphale to come first. He pulled Aziraphale flush against him, flipped them back over again, and set back to an unrelenting tempo. Using his own gift of flexibility, he bent forward to lick the beads of precome on Aziraphale’s dick.

“Oh god, Crowley—” Aziraphale moaned, panting and whimpering as Crowley sucked his cock while plunging forward. He stilled his movements and made to remove himself from Aziraphale so he could more easily access his cock, but Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arse and pulled him forward again. “I said, I like feeling you there.”

 _Ngk._ Crowley smirked devilishly and thrust forward once, then bent back down to take Aziraphale in his mouth again. It didn’t take long before he was coming on Crowley’s tongue, a string of nonsensical noises ringing through the air as Aziraphale rode out his orgasm. Crowley swallowed the last drops of come and leant up to kiss Aziraphale full on the mouth. 

“Look what you made me do,” Aziraphale uttered shakily against Crowley’s lips. “I can taste it.” He darted his tongue out to lick Crowley’s lips, placed a small peck against them, then whispered, “It’s your turn now, love.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Just a few more thrusts, and Crowley was coming, grunting as his cock pulsed deep inside his husband. If he’d had wings, he felt as if they’d be on full display, stretching to each side of the room. He collapsed forward, his long auburn hair piling around his head as he caught his breath. He didn’t know how long he lay there, his body thrumming with exhausted bliss; he finally turned onto his side to see Aziraphale watching him and reaching out to gather his hair and move it behind his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied. He pulled Aziraphale down to him so he could kiss him, finding his lips pliant and willing. 

When they broke the kiss, Aziraphale reached over onto the bedside table and prised his mobile. “So, I’ve received a few texts.”

“Yeah?”

“From Michael.” Aziraphale smirked scrolling through the dozen messages 

“Whoops,” Crowley chuckled. “I take it we missed brunch.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale placed the phone back onto the table then turned back to Crowley. “Fuck him. Ready to go?”

“For brunch? But we’ve already missed it. I did want to get you some of that cake you talked about when you started your classes, you seemed so—”

“No, silly,” Aziraphale interjected, giggling mischievously. His light laughter hung in the air like wind chimes, and Crowley loved the sound. “For round two.”

 _Fuck yes,_ Crowley thought _._ “Ngk.”


End file.
